Kurt spent a great deal of time up in his room, lately. More than before the events of last week. That might have bothered Logan and Ororo, if not for the fact that in addition to catching up on letters and his journal, he now had so much more to just think about. He, his life, and nearly everyone associated with his past had been targeted for attack by forces no less than supernatural. Of course he'd be the last to know that he was the latest custodian of the Soulsword, a mystical weapon coveted by sorcerers and demons alike. He wondered if Kassandra was okay. He figured she had to be wrapped up in this, somehow, the way a few things happened at just the right time. How Kätchen happened to be available to help Kurt infiltrate that coven, at that exact moment. How he, Ororo, Logan, and Christine were all there in time to witness and prevent a catastrophic subway accident.
But no more time to think. Scott had called Kurt down to the library. Kurt glanced over to his calendar- the Olympic fencing champions calendar Kassandra had miraculously found and sent him for Christmas last year. Sigh. This time of year, he wasn't particularly interested in keeping track of what day it was. Es muß' das tag sein, nicht wahr?
"Surprise! Happy birthday…"
Okay, so acting pleasantly surprised wouldn't be so difficult after all. Front and center in that room full of X-Men stood Christine, holding a cake she made, the blaze of candles that Lockheed just lit no match for her smile. She had been through so much with him in only one week, taking on challenges that many mutants and superheroes would balk at, and all without any superpowers of her own. Aber was ist das? The singing ended, and everything stopped. Even the flames atop the candles appeared frozen. All was completely still and silent. This looked like an old trick of the Professor's, putting people on pause. Perhaps he'd come to surprise him, too. He followed a low, shuffling sound, the only sound in the mansion, down to one of the parlors. Okay, so maybe this wasn't the Professor, Kurt mused, as he began to hear low notes on a piano. This could be just the sort of trick Kassandra might pull, if she were even allowed, if she even thought it was safe, to turn up at the Institute. Stop time around him, her, and the piano, and give a private, extratemporal recital. It sounded like just the sort of piece he'd enjoy most watching her play anyway. Driving, dramatic, big enough to pose an athletic as well as artistic challenge to her. Perhaps something by Lizst. But it could not be Kassandra, nicht wahr? His hair would have prickled with foreboding, even if it weren't so suddenly cold in the hallway. But rather than hesitate, he felt impelled to open that door. And really, it was the only course of action that made sense. He recalled reading something in one of Kassandra's favorite books. When explorers to an uncharted island sighted a dragon that then disappeared, what was it one of them said? "If there's a wasp is in the room I like to be able to see it."
He opened the door, recognizing too late the piece he heard. How strangely appropriate. He brought forth the Soulsword.
The figure in the parlor was not particularly keen on music. But a CD left on the stereo caught his attention. Ah yes, music of that Catholic abbé from nineteenth century Hungary, who, of all people, decided to name some four waltzes after him. Just this once, he might want to hear the pieces that bore his name while he waited.
The door flew open, flung by just the person he intended to see.
"Mephistopheles!"
"Please," he said, rising and turning toward Nightcrawler. "No need to stand on ceremony. Mephisto."
Of course, Mephisto had a deal to make. The boundaries between dimensions were beginning to break down. When the final war would begin, wouldn't it be noble for Kurt to ensure that those near and dear to him were protected? And as an added bonus, Kurt could have his foster-brother Stefan, the tormented subject of so many of his recent nightmares, brought back from the dead. All he had to do was keep out of the battle, keeping the Soulsword in neutral hands determined to strike a blow for neither side.
There were some other things Mephisto said that rankled Kurt even more. Yes, Storm had asked Kurt to investigate the coven that had killed those children. Just where did Ororo get her information?
"Let's just say the so called 'forces of good' can be as manipulative and self-serving as the 'forces of evil,'" said Mephisto.
Suddenly, things came together, making even more, and more alarming, sense. To think that Kurt was only joking when he said Ororo and Kassandra were conspiring together!
"Appalling, isn't it," Mephisto continued, "that you've been doing their dirty work and were given no choice in the matter?"
Wrong! What did Kassandra say? "I always have a choice." Kurt could have begged off. He could have taken a sabbatical. It was always understood that he could back down if he wanted. That he never did, no matter how tempting it was, was a matter of his own choice. And so it would continue to be.
"I'll grant you, in other words," said Mephisto, continuing to ramble about all he'd offer if only Kurt would step aside, "your greatest wish. I can do that. Believe me. I can."
A beautiful right hook to that monopolizing monster's jaw, and Kurt had a chance to make his decision known. The priest mentioned in his homily on Sunday that doubt has its place- when dealing with anyone, anything that demands misplaced trust and shakes true faith. Kurt seethed, fangs bared, tail lashing. "I'd sooner burn in Hell myself than make a deal with you, Mephisto."
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Christine saw Kurt stick around only for a polite sliver of cake before he slipped out.
"Lookin' for someone, kid?"
Only a profound act of self-restraint kept Christine from screaming, half in subconscious expectation of feeling once again adamantium slip between her ribs. Sure, she knew that Logan was in full control of himself now. Not possessed by a Soulsword seeking demon. But she had heard whispers around the Institute that he, not too long ago, broke a friend's arm, and all without any demonic intervention. She hoped he wouldn't take it personally- oh, what the heck, he could probably already smell that she was ill at ease around him. She took a deep, shaky breath. "Uh, yes. Did Kurt leave already?"
"Probably went outside. He's been doin' that a lot lately. Up in his room or outside. Got a lot on his mind, y'know."
"I know. Thanks," said Christine. She poured out some wine in a couple of those plastic party goblets, the ones with the detachable stems, then stepped outside.
Ah, good! Kurt hadn't gone far. She offered him a glass. What she had to say would not be easy. First a harmless icebreaking question. And some jokes about how different they were and how a relationship wouldn't work out. She finally looked into her glass, figuring Kurt would of course prefer a wine far too bold for her taste. "How many times do I have to almost die before I get the message: 'Leave New York'?"
Kurt was dumbfounded. But if there was one thing he learned lately, carpe diem meant never again letting a good woman leave without a proper goodbye. It wasn't as if he hadn't had good practice with that before, anyway.
They both strolled inside.
"Ah, just in time," said Ororo. "We have someone on the phone for you."
"Ich kann nicht sprechen jetzt, Liebster," said the hushed voice on the other end. "But if you'd like, meet me at Wannabe's tomorrow evening."
